


Paradoxes

by tyrsdayschild



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7517854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrsdayschild/pseuds/tyrsdayschild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the 'Reign of Morocco.' Graham talks to Chase about his cooking, and learns more than he expected about the bots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradoxes

Chase was clattering around in kitchen area of the bunker. Graham was a little surprised to see him there- the bots didn't eat, just drank the strange shimmering liquid they coaxed out of a solar converter, and he didn't think any one had used the equipment since it had been installed in the bunker in the fifties. Walking closer, he couldn't stop his nose from wrinkling. It smelled like...no, it just _smelled_.

"Hey Chase," he said, eyeing the small pile of goo encrusted pots warily, "What're you up to?"

"Ah, Graham," Chase said, "Excellent. I need someone with organic chemoreceptors to sample my cooking."

"You need what now?" Graham asked. Chase gestured for him to sit on one of the stools by the counter, and fetched a steaming pot off the old stove. He dumped the green gelatinous mush onto a plate and looked at Graham expectantly. "...what is it?" Graham asked.

"Pea soup," Chase said, in what might've been an excited tone for the stoic bot, "According to my research there are many exciting career opportunities for gourmet chefs." He gave a practiced little bow. "Bon appetite," he enunciated.

Graham looked at the pile of goo skeptically and- oh jeez, it smelled even worse up close. "I had a big breakfast," he said, hopping off the stool as Boulder came clomping over.

"Then do you mind?" the big green bot asked, "I'm out of green."

"All yours," Graham said, as Boulder placed a dollop of the 'pea soup' on his pallet, and returned to his easel. Graham followed him, observing the melancholy turn the bot's art had taken. He tried to comfort Boulder, reassuring him they'd always be partners. "And no matter how this turns out," he said, lifting his hand to stage whisper, "We absolutely must keep Chase out of the kitchen."

"So glad I don't eat," Boulder said, smiling at his partner's joking tone. Graham glanced back over his shoulder, seeing Chase carefully pouring the glop back into the pot it came from and wandering over towards the pantry.

"I should probably try to stop him before he wastes anymore food," Graham said.

"Be nice," Boulder said, carefully tearing off the paper he'd painted and laying it down to dry, exposing a clean piece on his pad. "We've been Rescue Bots our whole existence- he's just trying to learn something new."

"Okay," Graham said, nodding, walking back towards the kitchen.

"Hello again Graham," Chase said, "Do you think you could send one of your less recently fueled- pardon, fed- siblings over? The soup did not burn this time, and I believe I can correct the consistency error."

"Uh, yeah," Graham said, "About that. Why do you wanna be a cook?"

"I have done research," Chase said calmly, placing the pot back on the stove. "The culinary arts is a flexible field, with many hiring opportunities, and is open to people with varied backgrounds. Additionally, it thrives on novelty, and I, an alien to your world- or at least, a 'robot' in an organic society- am very 'novel.'"

"Uh-huh," Graham said, wincing a little- geez, this was gonna be an awkward conversation. "Look, Chase... uh, lemme put it this way- why are you making soup?"

"The pantry of the bunker, while very nutritional, lacks variety. I accessed the 'internet' and searched for recipes by ingredient-"

"Well I mean, why didn't you just go upstairs to our kitchen and borrow something from us?"

Chase gave Graham a neutral stare, which probably meant, 'Are you a moron?' in Chase-speak.

"I am too large to fit in your home," he said. Graham stayed silent, letting the statement hang in the air a minute. "Ah," Chase said after the pause. He gave the now bubbling pop a morose stir. "I take your meaning."

"I don't wanna be rude or anything," Graham said, "But, I mean- you gotta be realistic sometimes."

"Hmm," Chase said. "It is... not as if I had _entirely_ ignored the...height issue. It is part of the reason I wanted to pursue 'gourmet' cuisine. I have seen pictures of such establishments. Many have high ceilings."

"Those high ceilings don't always extend to the back. Or the door frames," Graham said.

"Hm," Chase said, stirring the pot morosely. A long moment passed and he finally turned off the stove burner. "Very well," he said. "We did not have the culinary arts on Cybertron. We had formulators and mixers, different methods of refining energon or additive blends that could be added. A limited range of candied or jellied forms, some mineral based cakes and sticks." He drummed his fingers against the counter, optics looking up to the ceiling absently. "I did not often sample such things- I put most of my stipend towards paying off my creation debt, I thought- never mind," he said, shaking his head and looking towards Graham, "Graham, I then must ask your advice. I had thought the culinary arts a good vocation- I could spend a vorn learning and mastering one form and still have a hundred more left- but I recognize that is 'impractical', as you say. You have knowledge of the job market on this planet- what field do you recommend I go into?"

"Um, I dunno," Graham said, scratching his head, "It's a big country. If worst came to worst, I'm sure my dad or Optimus Prime or someone could find you another city to be a police bot in."

"What if I... did not wish to police any longer."

"Uh," Graham said, surprised. Chase had always seemed the most gung-ho about his job of all of the bots. "Is that even possible? I mean, I don't wanna be rude, but you're, y'know, a police bot. Doesn't form follow function? Can you- uh, Chase? Chase?" 

The police bot didn't respond to his inquiries, having turned and silently walked out of the kitchen. Graham tried to chase after him, but Chase's long legs easily out paced the human and soon he was on the vehicle lift to the main garage and out of the bunker.

"Boulder," Graham said, jogging up to his partner, "Did you, uh, 'tick' what emotion Chase was?"

"He teeked mad," Boulder said, "Really mad, and... Graham, what did you _say_ to him?"

"I don't exactly know," Graham said, reaching up to rub Boulder's arm, trying to soothe the worried look on the bot's face. "I guess I should go talk to him, huh?"

"If he won't talk to you, comm me and I'll try," Boulder said, "But it's probably better to clear the air between you two before our next mission."

"Yeah," Graham said, wincing a little. His conversation with Chase had already been awkward- he was sure an angry Chase wouldn't make that easier. He got in the elevator and rode up to the main level. Fortunately, Chase hadn't driven off, and was standing in the drive way, looking into the distance. "Hey Chase," Graham said, coming up behind the bot, "I'm sorry-"

"Do not apologize when you do not know what you are apologizing for," Chase cut him off, "It is insincere and akin to lying."

Oh man, Graham must've _really_ pissed him off. "I know I made you mad," Graham said, "I know that I hurt you. That's enough reason to apologize." Chase gave him a sidelong look and exvented, tension draining from his shoulders as he turned to half-face the human. "Do you think maybe you could explain to me...?" Graham prompted.

"My feelings are irrational," Chase said morosely. "Logically I know you did not mean anything by your words. We have told you all very little of our world and our war, and you have no frame of reference to understand the implications of what you said."

"About being a police car?"

"About function," Chase said. "Do you know why our war began, Graham?"

"It's a civil war, right?" Graham asked. "Megatron wants control of Cybertron, he rebelled, Optimus Prime represent the legitimate government, you fight for him?"

"That is what the war has devolved into," Chase said, "I suppose all wars that are waged long enough become power struggles. But that is not why the war began. In the beginning, even the Prime was on Megatron's side. Even Heatwave." Chase gave a small, crooked smile. "Do not tell him I said that. He does not know that I know he was the one to paint 'You are being deceived' on the wall of the barracks. He would be embarrassed, given what happened."

"Deceived..." repeated Graham, "Is that how the Decepticons got their name?"

Chase nodded. "It denounces the government for the lies they created to control us. It ruled through a philosophy called 'functionalism.' It said the creator of our world created every shape for a purpose- every form for a function-" and here he looked at Graham, "-and every mechanism had a set place in the caste system it was immoral to move beyond. Not just immoral, _dysfunctional_. And cold-constructed mechs like us Rescue Bots, we were particularly locked into the system. We were purpose built for a particular function, and we had to perform it until we had paid the Rescue Corps back for giving us life. It was called the creation debt."

"Wait," Graham said, "You mean your war was a slave rebellion?" Chase was silent a moment.

"Indentured servitude technically describes our situation more accurately," Chase said, "The Disposable caste was enslaved. The Vehicons were nominally indebted like us, but I had never heard of a Vehicon functioning long enough to retrain or retire. Sometimes I felt as though I had no right to complain. The Rescue Corps kept fair books. They did not overcharge us for our rations and bunks, they allowed us stipends and free time. I suffered a catastrophic accident and was rebuilt, and they did not inflate the cost of the procedure or the materials. Blades repaid his debt in less than eight hundred vorns, and retrained as a medic. I would've cleared my debt in only thirty more vorns when the war broke out. I had planned to leave, to-" his vocalizer crackled with a burst of static, his optics flaring a little, and he fell silent again. "It does not matter," he said after a moment, voice carefully controlled and flat again. "The city I planned to move to is destroyed. The mechs I thought I would spend my life with are dead. Our planet is dead as well."

Graham had no idea what to say to that. It was easy, sometimes, to think of the Bots as machines, as cars that sometimes got up and walked around and told jokes. And they were so odd in their interactions, stilted and overly literal and easily confused, they sometimes seemed like big metal kids. It was weird to think of Chase not as his dad's car, not as Cody's toy robot, but as a refugee, or a soldier, or a victim.

"We revolted for freedom," Chase continued, "Freedom to determine our own destinies, to choose our path through life. To not be controlled or restricted or imprisoned or punished for questioning the distribution of power which left so few happy and so many ground between the system's gears. We split and fractured and turned on each other, and began squabbling for power. We took to the stars. And now we are here," and Chase did not smile, his face impassive, "We are here, and I do not have a debt but I do not earn a wage. I do not choose my assignment. I cannot leave or travel. There is no end date, no finish line, save the end of the war, which I am not permitted to fight, the progress of which I am not kept appraised of. I am not allowed to be an Autonomous Robot. I am made to act like an object, like a mindless, controllable thing," and he exvented heavily, shoulders slumping. "And yet I have no right to complain. I have been spared the horrors of war. I enjoy my work. I treasure my partnership with Chief Burns, and value my relationship with your family. All I ever wanted in my existence was freedom, and now I have less of it than ever... and yet I had never imagined I could have so much love in my life."

"Oh geez," Graham said, at a loss for words. Hesitantly, he reached out and laid his hand on Chase's. "That's some heavy stuff, Chase."

"It is indeed taxing on my processors," Chase said, "I try to keep such thoughts as far down my priority queue as possible. However, your comment about function triggered a cascade of emotional processes and many different thoughts activating simultaneously, and I found the need to spatially distance myself from you to process them. Thank you for allowing me to express them to you. It has proven much more effective then my usual suppression strategies in terms of discharging the intrusions."

"It's like Cody says," Graham said. "You bots are a part of our family now. We're supposed to help you and support you with this sort of stuff. And I mean, maybe you can't really leave us, but that also means you don't have to be alone."

Chase gave a small smile. "Thank you Graham."

Graham gave a small nod, and patted Chase's hand, trying to convey it was no problem. He turned back to the firehouse. "C'mon," he said, more determined than ever. "Let's go back and talk with the others. We've gotta figure out what we're going to do about this Morbot situation."

Chase nodded, and followed him.


End file.
